I am exhausted. Underlying self inflicted headache has ruled all day. A busy weekend has been had by all. I watched my daughter lose in a netball match and my son lose in a rugby match (although they were playing against a team that had 3 huge international players – not the sort of match any mother wants to watch her son playing in and unbelievably two rival dad’s got into a fight) . I did my bit at the “Secrets” stall at the school Christmas fair helping children choose and wrap presents for their family and then in the evening I went to the most fantastic party with lots of good friends. It was a friend’s 40th birthday party and it was hosted for her by Sir Tim Rice. We spent the evening in a marquee in his garden all dressed up as cowboys and cowgirls – no PC cow “people” to be found in Country and Western world – good old fashioned sex role stereotyping rules – Malboro Man meets Daisy Dukes/Dolly Parton….everybody looked fabulous. There was line dancing and fab food and LOADS to drink – tequila slammers, tequila slushpuppies and, and, and, then, a, headache, and, silly, behaviour, all, round.
Therefore, I wasn’t very happy to drive my son to his bloody audition in Islington for Britain’s Got Talent” which took hours only to find a huge queue. Having then established that it was probably going to be at least 3 hours we decided not to bother. I don’t even know why I made any attempt to get him there anyway. He was so not interested. It was obvious that was going to happen. He was always going to go to the Sunderland Vs Fulham game and clearly doesn’t even have the grit and determination required to pass even the first hurdle. The queue was full of little girls in tutu’s and men with sparkly mohicans and frankly none of us could be arsed. My mother wants me to record him singing his song and send it to her – so maybe I’ll show you too and then we can all judge him and be done with it.